Personal Reasons
by Yllen
Summary: Even a perfect girl can have a moment when she's fed up with her image, and wants to prove that she was sorted to Gryffindor for a reason. Recklessness is a Gryffindor trait, isn't it? Part 1 of 2
1. Default Chapter

A/N: I know one shouldn't start another story while writing one, but the bunny was so cute I just couldn't kill it. It is going to be two chapters long (perhaps plus a very short epilogue), unless something really strange happens. Grateful thank to all my reviewers. The story is dedicated to Naya Snake, because it is her fault. The bunny was (very pleasantly) conceived during reading her wonderful story. Check her in my favourites :)

Summary: Hermione Granger isn't infallible, nor is she always the wise one. Sometimes a know-it-all can be fed up with being everybody's perfect girl and try to prove to everyone she was chosen to be Gryffindor for a reason. Results are, of course, pretty disastrous… Hermione's POV.

Disclaimer: Of course - it couldn't be mine. Life isn't that pleasant.

Genre: Angst, Drama, Action, Pre-Romance.

Rating: Strong PG-13, for violence, some mention of sex and language.

_**Personal Reasons**_

Dumbledore looks at me in that grandfatherly way of his. But this time there is no twinkling, no humour in his eyes. Just sadness. But that is understandable. I have disappointed him; I have nearly killed myself; I have put his plans in jeopardy. All because of my stupid foolhardiness.

He staples his palms and asks me a question. I ask him to repeat it, and repeat it he does.

"Miss Granger, why were you out on the school grounds—alone—at night?" I wish he would swear. Some "bloodies" and "damns" wouldn't go amiss. I wish he would shout at me, punish me, do anything. Just not be so sad. It makes me feel so guilty that I feel like opening my veins in front of him, just to show him I am sorry. Sorry I did what I did, and even more sorry that it resulted in what it did. But I don't know how to answer his question. That is, the answer is simple. I could just tell him, "I wanted to prove to my friends I am no coward, sir." Or, even more incriminatingly, "I had a bet with Neville and Parvati that I would prove to them I wasn't all books and rules, sir. That I was in Gryffindor for a reason."

But I just say, "There was no real reason, sir. I was just being foolish."

I remember that scene in "Lion King" in which the father lion – what was his name, anyway? – tells his son, Simba, that real courage isn't about seeking danger, but about facing it, when necessary. Or something like that. I wish I had remembered it… My, what time can it be? It isn't completely dark, so that would be about… Five? Six AM? So, it was just ten hours ago?

Dumbledore sighs sadly, and I hide my face behind a cup of still-hot chocolate the house elves made for me. I am deadly tired, and I just wish I could go to bed. Sleep for the next three years or so. Until everybody forgets about my mistake.

But, even if everybody forgot, I would still remember. I don't think I can ever forget.

Short of Obliviate, at least. But I deserve to remember.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"_What're you doing, 'Mione?" I hear Neville ask, and I feel my blood turn to ice. And then it is boiling, and I am certain my face must be disgustingly red. "I hate it, when you call me 'Mione," I spat. "I am HERmione, understood?" _

_But he just smiles this perfectly innocent smile of his, the smile that makes me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him heavily – pretty futile wish, as he is at least a foot taller. _

"_And if you bothered to look at the book I have in my lap, you'd see I am studying Transfiguration. Which is just what you should be doing, considering the fact that we have a test tomorrow, and last time you tried, you couldn't change water into glass if Trevor's life depended on it."_

_Now it is his turn to blush. But he is no longer that sweet, shy boy we all knew and liked. Now he gives as good as he gets. So I shouldn't be surprised, but still I am, when I hear him shot back, "At least I am a Gryffindor, and not a Ravenclaw in disguise!"_

_I feel that there will be a moment when I will regret it, but still I answer, "I am as Gryffindor as any one of you. I like books, but I know there is more to life than that, and I can prove it."_

_The inter-house rivalry has increased quite a lot lately. The attacks of Voldemort's supporters are getting more and more frequent. There are victims. Dead man, raped women, tortured children. I should tell them that we should get prepared for what awaits us in the future and stop behaving like some silly first-years. But I am too proud to admit that I sometimes also suspect that I landed in the wrong house. That I would just mix better with the silent, bookish Ravenclaws who solve problems rationally rather than emotionally. _

"_Really?" Neville attempts a sneer and fails miserably. So miserably that I am on a verge of bursting into laughter. But I do not. _

"_What are you talking about, Nev, 'Mione?" It is Parvati. Just what I need at the moment. I grit my teeth at the "'Mione" and wish glares could kill. _

"_Oh, Her-mione just told me that she was a Gryffindor to the core and could prove it," Neville answers idly, mockingly stressing the first part of my name. I am getting really angry. What happened to the boy who trembled when someone as much as called his name loudly?_

"_Really?" Parvati seems most interested. "So we can dare her?"_

"_Yep," Neville nods happily._

"_You know guys, you are really original when it comes to avoiding learning," I answer, saccharine sweet._

"_So, let's put it like this. If you are a real Gryffindor, Her-mione, you will leave the dormitory at ten PM – just when curfew starts – go to the greenhouses, stand in front of them and shout "Voldemort" at the top of your lungs."_

"_And how will you know that I do so?"_

"_We will borrow Harry's Map, so we will know you are there. As to the shouting, we will trust you to do it."_

_I knew it was a bad idea to let the other Gryffindors know about the map. But then, we didn't really have another option, back in September, when we had to take turns watching the map for any signs of Death Eater activity on school grounds. Unless Harry would, for once, listen to me and tell the teachers, of course._

"_Right. I will do it. Damn you two."_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"So, Miss Granger, you didn't have any reasons to go to the greenhouses?" Dumbledore looks tired, I note. Tired and old. I feel an overwhelming desire to cry.

"No, sir," I mumble. And then, finally, I confess. "I wanted to show others that I am courageous."

Now he seems pretty taken aback. "I assume you realise now that what you did wasn't courageous."

"Yes, sir. It was stupid, foolish and disgustingly childish of me."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_I don't want to tell Harry about the bet, so I don't ask him for the Cloak. I just take off, hoping that no one will notice me on my way. Or, perhaps, that someone will notice, and send me back to the dormitory. I wish I hadn't agreed, but it's too late to withdraw now. They'd all think me a coward. _

_It is completely dark outside the castle but, even inside, the light is, at best, dim. It is a safety measure taken against rule-breakers lately. The penalty for sneaking outside the Tower, Dungeon or whatever area belongs to one's respective House is severe. The rule-breaker can, at best, expect the loss of about a hundred house points and a detention. At worst, they get about a dozen detentions with Filch and total loss of house points. But to be caught outside the castle can very well mean an expulsion. The teachers claim that they aren't going to be held responsible for those who do not value their own lives. I think about it – the word "expulsion" rings in my ears like a chant – as I reach the front doors._

_I wonder whether the evil Neville had this all planned. If not, how could he possibly know about the exact hours when Filch opens the doors? Neville said that Filch would open them at fifteen past ten and keep them open for about an hour. All I have to do is hurry, and I will manage to be there and back in less than half the time. _

_It is dark. The light of the stars and moon isn't enough to give me a clear way towards the greenhouses, so I stumble more than once on my way. I do not run – not only is it too dark to attempt it, I am also aware of my poor physical condition. Reading and keeping fit do not go well together._

_It takes me about twenty minutes to really reach the greenhouses. I am panting and cursing Neville's – and my own – inconsideration. We didn't think about the impact the darkness would have on my speed. Perhaps if the moon was full – no. That would mean only more dangers, what with the werewolves that are rumoured to live in the Forbidden Forest._

_I take my breath. The darkness seems to be getting even darker, as if the stars were going dim. I think about Harry before I shout,_

"_VOLDEMORT!"_

_There. I did it. Nothing happened, and now I can go home-_

_Is there a shadow moving behind that tree?_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I look Dumbledore in the eye and take my breath.

"And then I shouted "Voldemort,"" I murmur, quietly.

"That was what alarmed Mr Filch, yes. But when he reached the greenhouses-"

"I was already gone," I finish.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_I look around, suddenly feeling more frightened than I have ever felt before. Even more frightened than in the Department of Mysteries. Because that time, I had my friends with me. Now I am completely alone. I have my wand at the ready, and I approach a rock to cover my back. I remember each and every lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts Tonks ever gave us. I don't make any sounds, and prepare for the worst._

_And then I hear something move to my right, I turn my head to look at it, whatever it is, and notice another shadow. Now I am sure that I must be outnumbered, and I decide to try whether it is true that attack is the best defence._

"Stupefy_!" I shout in the direction of the person – if it is a person – to my right, then I cast a glamour and break into a run._

_I hear someone shout "_Crucio!_" but don't turn, just make a sudden jump to the left and the ray of red light misses me. I am wondering whether it would be best to run in the direction I am, or try to alarm those in the castle. I sincerely hope that Neville has already notified the teachers about the strangers on the grounds._

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Miss Granger, you must consider yourself very lucky that Mr Longbottom was looking at the Marauders Map at the time, or we might have not known about the problem until morning or even later."

I flush, but don't comment on the statement.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_I hear them gaining on me. There must be at least three of them, judging by the voices. _

"_Stop, you stupid Mudblood!" I hear one of them shout. "Or you will wish you were never born!"_

_I am not stupid. Firstly, I wish that already, and secondly, they are going to hurt me whether I obey them or not. If they catch me, that is. So my only hope is to reach the castle._

"_Incendio Maximo!" I hear one of them shout, and a giant fire bolt misses me by inches._

_I don't speak. I am short of breath anyway._

_And then I see something in front of me. A human silhouette, dressed in black robes. The man – for it is a man – seems to be glowing in the pale light. I try to duck him. But he is fast as a lightning, and if his paleness and fang-baring smile hadn't tipped me off, I would have recognised him as a vampire anyway._

_His hand grabs me by my left wrist, and with my right hand I try to stupefy him. The spell bounces off his quickly-cast shield, and then he is throwing his own spell, a pain-inflicting curse that I remotely recall reading about sometime last year. The pain curses through my body and I think I'd collapse if not for his strong hands keeping me in place. _

_At that moment I think I'd readily swap my knowledge for a pair of athletic hands and legs, hands to help me wrench his wand away from him, and legs to carry me back to the castle. I can see it, and finally I realise I should be shouting for help. I would curse my own stupidity if I had time._

"_HELP!" I shriek like a banshee, meanwhile still trying to wrench my wand-hand from his grip. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"_

_I think I can hear someone running in our direction, and I thank the heavens for being saved when the man lets go of my hand. Yes! He is going to try to escape, I know, and I can't bring myself to care. He can escape for all he wants – I am safe, there will be no teeth sinking in my neck, drinking my blood as I was already beginning to imagine!_

_And then I realise he is still clutching on my other hand, I tug it, intent on breaking free, when suddenly the world seems to start spinning around me in most unpleasant way, and I feel a pulling in my navel, and for the first time in my whole life I feel a curse word, a real curse, one for which my parents would punish me instantly, trying to break free from my mouth._

_A fucking Portkey. _

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Are you completely sure the man who Portkeyed away with you was a vampire, Miss Granger?" There is a sense of urgency to Dumbledore's voice.

"Yes, sir. He was thin, to the point of bony, he had long, pointed fangs and when he involuntarily touched my silver earring he averted his hand immediately as if it stung him," I answer curtly.

"Yes, I suppose that about settles it."

I see Dumbledore squeeze his eyes shut for a couple of seconds, and then open them again, forcing them to focus. I can see he is exhausted – he couldn't have had any sleep this night, what with my escapade, and I feel sorry for having been sarcastic about that.

"Sir, is that bad a sign? That vampire, I mean?"

"Miss Granger… I am afraid that will make the papers any day now, so I might as well tell you. We have been hoping to get the British vampires to sign a treaty; we offered them equal rights and in response they were to ally with us against Voldemort. It appears that he was more persuasive."

I nod my head sadly.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_We land heavily on something hard, and I feel my knee bump into an edge of something made of metal or stone. The pain shoots through my leg and I hiss furiously, trying to regain my balance._

_The man has no such problems. It is a matter of a second before I feel the tip of his wand press to my neck, dabbing into the skin. If it was a bit more sharp, it would draw blood, I realise._

"_You just try to escape," he breaths inside my ear. His voice is strange; cold, aggressive and frightening. He pronounces words very carefully, as if English wasn't his first language. "You just try, and my teeth will be where this wand is."_

_I nod ever so slightly, while he pockets my own wand. Then, he takes his wand back from where it is dabbing into my neck and points it at me._

"_I will go right after you, so do not, I repeat, do not try to escape. I will give you directions."_

_He definitely has a thing for repetition._

_I am told to go forward, then we turn left, then right. I finally have a while to take in my surroundings – we seem to have landed in a kind of park. There are trees here, but placed too regularly not to have been planted by man. The grass is also cut short, and in the distance I can see some sort of building._

_Apart from directions the vampire speaks no word, so I am left to my own thoughts. What is happening? They couldn't have known I was going to leave the building; I didn't know I would. So that must have been a chance meeting; Death Eaters – for I have little doubt the man is one – roaming Hogwarts grounds. That's rich. And a bad sign. The battle must be close, then._

_Finally, we reach a more brightly-lit area and my captor lets a sigh escape him – now, that is most interesting. He looks young to me. Perhaps this is his first mission ever? Perhaps he has never really hurt anyone… Well, he is a vampire, but not all vampires drink blood – that is, not all vampires drink human blood. And even fewer kill their prey. Then, maybe I should talk to him…_

"_My name is Hermione," I inform him. I remember once reading about criminals having more trouble to hurt people once they knew something about them. Something personal. That could be my chance._

"_I am just sixteen, please, don't take me there. Don't hurt me, please, I am my parents' only child, they have no one else…"_

_I just hope he is no rapist. If so, the word "please" was the worst possible choice._

_I cannot turn around to risk a glance at him, but I can hear a change in the rhythm of his walk._

"_I didn't do anything to you, why did you bring me here? You want to give me to Death Eaters? They will kill me, and I haven't even lived yet…"_

_I must admit I sound awfully stupid to my own ears, but I hear his breathing change, and he speaks, sternly,_

"_Shut up. Shut up, or you will regret it!"_

_Now I know he is new to this business. I am, too, in a way. _

"_Please, don't let them kill me. I am just a schoolgirl, what good will that do?"_

"_You were heard shouting our Lord's name."_

_Ah, Well, yes, I did that. Just a stupid bet, actually. No, let's just take it to somewhere nice and discuss over a cup of tea – blood – whatever you vampires drink, will you?_

"_And you are a stupid Mudblood."_

_Funny how these jeans can betray you. Or are that my shoes? You are sure Pure-bloods don't wear sneakers made in America?_

_Oh. And did I ever mention my doubts about the fact that the epithet 'Mudblood' so often goes with 'stupid'?_

"_I am too young to die," I say in what I hope is my best pleading tone. "Just let me go and no one will be the wiser. Do you want my death on your conscience?"_

_I swear, if I had twenty minutes more, I'd crack him._

_Unfortunately, just then, we reach the gates to the…_

_I guess this is a manor. A real one, and here I was thinking that these pure-bloods were exaggerating, talking about their houses as if they were at least royal residences. _

_Any king or queen could be living in that house. I can't help but admire its beauty. It is stylish. It is neo-gothic, or at least renovated to be neo-gothic._

_It is where I will probably die._

_I could imagine worse places, actually. But I can think of a much better time. Like, this time of a year, a century later._

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"How big exactly was that manor, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asks, urgently. I try to remember the exact size, but I've always had problems with identifying distance and so I can merely hazard a guess.

"I am not sure, Headmaster. About as long as the castle, but with just two floors. It had neo-gothic look to it," I add. "And… sir, I can't be sure, but I think it could be Malfoy's."

"What makes you say so, Miss Granger?" he asks, sharply.

"When I was walking down… one of the corridors… I looked at the family portrait, and it showed a blond man with similar mouth shape and eyes like Draco Malfoy's."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_In the gate we are greeted by another man dressed in black. His face is obscured by his hood, and when he speaks to my captor, his voice goes in a low hiss._

"_What iss that?" he asks, and I can't help but notice that the vampire, although taller, seems to shrink when confronted with that man. _

"_A Mudblood who was wandering on the grounds. It dared use Master's name."_

"_It did?" the man's voice takes on interested note. "Show me," he commands._

_And so I am pushed forward and the guard grips my chin forcefully, then moves my head left and right, taking in my face. I start to shake in fear, as if the shock was wearing off. I can't see any way out anymore._

"_Take her to Thatcher," he decided, at long last. "He will know what to do. And hurry up; the meeting is scheduled in an hour."_

"_Yes, sir."_

_He seizes my wrist again, and we enter the building. The corridor is well-lit, with what looks like thousands of candles, some sitting in silver candelabras of snake-like shape, some simply floating in the air above our heads. I can't help but admire the carpets that we tread upon; they are, predictably, green and silver, but their texture, as far as I can tell, is fine and the design-_

_My mind is trying to focus on details in an attempt on forgetting the reality. As if it would go away. I know this, I remember it happening before. I cannot let my fear rule me. I have to try to fight for my life. _

_Is there a chance to escape the vampire? If it exists I can't see it. If I try to run for the door, he will most likely stun me, and his ability to run at least thrice as fast as I can is a sad fact. And even if I reached the door, there will be the Guardian waiting. And if the vampire fears him, I should as well. _

_But this doesn't mean I shouldn't at least try to memorise the plan of the corridors._

_We go along the same long one in which we started. Then, we take a right corridor, a smaller and darker one, and reach stairs. They seem to lead to the cellar. Although here the cellar is probably called the dungeon._

_Seven, eight, nine stairs. A turn and another set of these. Nine, just as well._

_Doors, heavy wooden doors. I have never been interested in this sort of thing, so I can't tell what kind of wood it is, but I'd hazard a guess – hard, heavy and very expensive. _

_And so we enter._

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"They called the man Thatcher?"

"Yes, sir. They seemed to be quite a bit afraid of him as well."

"Do you think it was a name or a nickname?"

"I… don't think he is a man of nicknames, sir."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"_Timothy. I am glad to see you. And who are you bringing with you today, ah?"_

_The man speaks with ease and friendliness and I can't understand why my vampire seems to cower in front of that Thatcher. The man stood up from behind his desk as we entered. He is quite short, but he has long hands and large palms, and he is so thin that it makes him seem taller. He is very pale, and I can clearly see veins underneath his skin. His smile appears genuine, and his eyes, a rather pleasant pair of dark brown ovals looks at me with just a hint of surprise._

"_This is a Mudblood, sir," the vampire answers, his hand gripping on my wrist so tightly I hiss in pain. The Thatcher's eyes dart to the wrist at the sound and he makes a small tutting sound._

"_Now, Timothy, that is no way to treat a young lady. Let go of her hand."_

_Timothy obeys instantly, and he flinches as if slapped._

"_Now, please tell me, who you are, Miss…"_

"_Granger," I volunteer. Not really sure why, actually._

"_So, Miss Granger. I take it you are from Hogwarts? It seemed to me that Timothy was supposed to be visiting the grounds tonight. Weren't you, Timothy?"_

_And just a short time ago I was shouting at my friends for using 'Mione. This man would probably call his wife 'Catherine' while climaxing._

"_Yes, sir. And one of ours found her wondering around greenhouses. They stayed and I brought her here, sir."_

"_That much I've gathered," comes the short answer._

_After that a silence falls, and Thatcher furrows his brows, and looks expectantly at the other wizard. "And what, pray tell, do you expect of me?"_

"_Sir, I thought-"_

"_No, Timothy. You did not. You kidnapped her because an opportunity presented itself, and now something must be done. She saw our faces and our location. What do you think should be done, Timothy?"_

_All this is said completely calmly and quietly, yet after Thatcher is through, the vampire looks ready to wet himself. I still don't understand what is the issue. Then the older wizard looks at me and asks,_

"_Miss Granger… I suppose I may call you by your name, can't I?"_

"_Yes, sir. I am Hermione."_

_Where did THAT come from?_

"_Now, Hermione. We are quite at a loss here. I mean, the situation is tough. What do you think should we do? What would you do if you were in our place?"_

"_If I was a Death Eater and a Mudblood saw my face I'd kill her," I answer, and I feel my insides go cold at the sound of my own voice. For as much as the voice, vocal cords, tongue, teeth and breath are mine, the thought is not._

"_That seems unavoidable. But maybe… just maybe we could work a compromise, don't you think, dear?"_

_The words roll off his tongue smoothly, as if they were buttered, and I feel like I am drowning in that voice. So smooth, so pleasant. I should just do…_

"_Whatever you say, sir."_

"_Now, that is my girl. Come closer, Hermione."_

_I don't want to come closer. I know I don't, but somehow, some part of me wants nothing more than to obey the man and I take a step, and then another, and I am standing two steps away from that man. And I can smell him now, a spicy kind of smell, masculine smell, but underneath there is another tone to it – like the smell of rotting leafs and warm stones, if stones had smell._

"_Look me in the eye."_

_I meet his gaze. Did I think his eyes brown? They aren't, not really. They seem to change as I look at them, from a pale shade of hazel to obsidian black, and I am suffocating, I can't breath, his eyes are entering my mind, and I think that is what Harry described as Legilimency, the man is now inside me, sifting through my head, and I try to block him off, but I can't. All I can do is try to show him memories that have no meaning… but why should I anger him, he is my friend, he wants to help me… I should show him my secrets, show him what I know about Har-_

_I am being raped, a part of me, somewhere far away realises. It is like a rape done to the mind. It hurts, and the helplessness…_

_And suddenly I am free, and only then do I notice that I am lying on the floor, choking on my own blood. I must have bitten my lips while trying to fight him off._

"_Hermione… we are only trying to find a way to make us all happy… why are you hurting yourself?"_

_His voice comes from somewhere above me. I push myself to a semi-sitting position. My vampire is standing about three feet away from Mr Thatcher and when our gazes lock I think I can see… compassion? Fear?_

"_Come, child. I will ask you a few questions and I you answer truthfully we will find a way to let you go. I promise you that."_

_He smiles, and a fleeting thought passes through my mind that if there were tryouts for "Jaws VIII", or whatever number they reached by now, the man would win with one hand tied behind his back. For in comparison, the shark's smile seems quite friendly and harmless._

"_Now, Hermione. Tell me, when are you going to enter the Member of the Phoenix?"_

"_Never," I answer, truthfully. I am going to die today, after all, aren't I?_

"_Is that so?" He seems quite doubtful. "I am not sure whether you understood the question, dear. But let's try something else. What is Harry Potter most afraid of?"_

_I feel my mouth open against my will and I answer truthfully._

"_Dementors, sir."_

_His eyes shine gleefully. He opens his mouth, probably to ask me another question, when the door opens, and a cloaked and masked man enters._

"_Thatcher, Jagger - what the-" He looks at me and his eyes flair. "Now…" he drawls and I instantly recognise his voice. That hair of his is well-hid under his cloak and if it wasn't for the voice…_

"_Miss Granger. A pleasure to see you again. My pleasure."_

_I have never been so close to fainting in my whole life._

"_Malfoy," I spit. "I thought you were rotting in Azkaban."_

_But there is a definite advantage to his being here – Thatcher can no longer attempt these tricks of his. _

"_No a know-it-all, after all. There is someone rotting in my cell, I am sure… But I have much better things to do out here."_

_He finally fully enters the room and takes off the mask. I gasp in shock at the view of his face._

_No longer the fallen angel. His face is crossed by an ugly red scar, going from his left brow to the right corner of his lips. He scowls under my scrutiny and I avert my gaze. His once perfectly straight nose is now as hooked as Professor Snape's._

"_Like what you see, Miss Granger?" he smirks. "It was my dear wife's niece's doing. During my first attempt at an escape, she shot me with a severing hex. Good with a wand, that much I have to give her. I can't wait to see her again," he finishes, dreamily._

_I feel as if we were alone in the room. When he entered, both Thatcher and Timothy took a step backwards, both proverbially and literally. He has power over them, and perhaps…_

_It would be better for me to die, after all, than spill all the secrets of the Order that I know. _

"_She will no doubt be glad to see you, too. And I must say, that scar of yours is much more intimidating than Harry's."_

_Lucius Malfoy's eyes flash angrily, he tightly grips on his cane and for a second I am sure he is going to blast me to pieces, but he just stares at me and after a moment he grins evilly._

"_Thatcher, I am taking her with me."_

"_But sir, I was just-"_

"_I am going to bring her back to you, no fear. And after I am through with her, you will find her much more cooperative, I am sure."_

_Thatcher falls silent and Malfoy stretches his hand. It lands on my head, and he takes a short while to sift his fingers through my hair. And then, completely unexpectedly, he catches my hair strongly and twists his wrist so that I feel as if he is tearing my hair from my scalp._

"_I am proud to invite you to a tea I am going to share with a couple of friends," he hisses in my ear, as he pushes me outside the door and out of the room. "They will all be delighted to see you. Dolohov seems to remember you fondly."_


	2. Chapter Two

The second part of the two-shot, to be followed by an epilogue.

This is a disclaimer for the broken-hearted:

It's not mine  
And it won't be, ever.  
Even though I'm, oh, so clever  
I just want to own for a short while  
But it ain't mine.

Written by Novinha

Beta-read by Lara and Siren (Thank You!)

****

Personal Reasons

Chapter Two

"I was terrified, sir…" I manage to croak and Dumbledore hands me a handkerchief. "I was sure that Malfoy was going to…"

"Yes… Mr Malfoy. We haven't expected-" Dumbledore trails off and I look at him expectantly, and by the way of answer he looks at me sharply. "Did he… do something while…"

"No, sir. He brought me straight to the… revel."

I hesitate a while before adding, "I was shocked when I saw Professor Snape."

* * *

_  
We exit the room and, strangely enough, I feel glad. I don't think anything done by Lucius Malfoy can be as bad as being hopeless, and mindless, and manipulated by Mr Thatcher. We Portkey into an unfamiliar room. I lose my balance and stumble as we land, and the result of that is quite painful, as Lucius Malfoy hasn't let go of my hair throughout our trip._

"Excuse me, friends," he says nonchalantly. "I was delayed on my way, but I think the present I brought here should more than compensate for your time."

He drops me to the floor and I fall forwards. All I can see is boots, pairs of socks and hems of robes.

"What is she doing here, Lucius? Weren't we supposed to discuss some urgent-" one of them asks impatiently, only to be stopped mid-sentence.

"I assure you this is much more urgent, Jeremy. The young Mudblood you see," he begins, as I scramble to my feet, "is, in fact, the ever famous Miss Know-It-All Granger."

I look up and hazard a short glance at them. Seated in comfortable looking armchairs, the five of them look at me expectantly. I recognise Dolohov and see pure unadulterated hatred in his narrowed eyes. On his left sits an unfamiliar looking blond, short-haired wizard. On his right I see a pair of similar looking strangers - probably brothers - one of which is the supposed Jeremy. And then I spot him.

Professor Snape.

"And who the hell is Miss Granger?" I hear someone ask and, as I've already lowered my gaze, I can but guess that the speaker is the short-haired blond.

"Hartley, you watch your language. And, to answer your perfectly moronic question - Miss Granger is Harry Potter's best friend, as everybody knows."

"Apparently not everybody, Lucius."

I remain on the floor, not daring to stand up. There is nowhere to escape, anyway; I don't have a wand and I am severely outnumbered, even if I can count Professor Snape in. I take time to register the surroundings. We are in a rather large room, with a fireplace in the far end. The wizards each hold a glass, and the strong aroma of tea mingles with that of alcohol.

My musings are interrupted by Malfoy's sharp reply.

"If I wanted to be on first name terms with you, Hartley, I'd suggest it."

"So, what do we do now? Question her to get to know all about Potter and then the world is our oyster?"

"If you refrained from showing off the fact that you were raised by a Muggle loving fool-"

"You don't speak ill of my father, Malfoy-"

I don't look at them while they argue and instead I let my gaze lock with that of Professor Snape's. He gives no sign of acknowledgement, and his eyes remain just as cold as ever, but somehow I feel I can expect help from him. This does not make the situation much less dire, however.

"Gentlemen, please refrain," Dolohov interjects calmly. "Am I correct in assuming you want us to lure Potter here, Lucius?"

"That about describes my idea, Antonin."

"Do they know about her disappearance yet?"

Of course, Malfoy can't be sure about it, as he hasn't asked Timothy the Fanged about the details of my kidnapping. Extremely inconsiderate of him, but then, I guess he must have been in a hurry to get here.

"If they do not, then they soon will," he answers. "But now… I don't really think she should…"

"Stupefy_!" is the last thing I hear before the darkness engulfs me. _

* * *

"Now, Miss Granger, do you know which one of them stupefied you?"

"It was Malfoy."

"Hmm… Interesting," Dumbledore mutters under his breath, and I wonder what he might be referring to. "How long had you been unconscious?"

"I am not sure, but I don't think it was for longer than an hour."

* * *

_  
When I wake, sometime later, I am in another room, alone with just Dolohov and Snape. Dolohov stands closer to me, and I don't like his smile in the slightest. If he has a reason to be glad, it's definitely not good news for me._

"Miss Granger, welcome back among the living," he says, with false cheer. I notice that his brown eyes are actually very cold, the way I used to think only pale ones could be. Well, and that of Professor Snape's, but then, the man is an exception in itself.

I let my gaze wander and look at the Professor. He is standing in the back of the room, wand in hand, his arms crossed. His posture, as well as face, projects rigid disgust.

"Do you remember me, missy?" Dolohov raises his voice ever so slightly. "I remember you very well. I've been thinking about you for a long while."

Of course, I do not reply. I am sure that anything I could say would just serve to infuriate him further.

"Dolohov, we need her alive," Snape mentions, nonchalantly. If he would just roll his eyes he would paint the perfect picture of boredom and superiority.

"But she will live, Snape. Crucio_!"_

I am nearly sure that Snape flinches when the curse is uttered, but the torture overcomes me swiftly, and all thoughts leave my mind as white-hot needles of pain pierce my bones and muscles. I can't stop the cries from escaping my throat, though my voice soon goes hoarse from the effort. It seems like ages pass before the curse is finally lifted.

"Stop it, Dolohov. We need her, and you are going to drive her insane."

"We need her alive, not on the top of her form."

"If you drive her mad now, what fun will she be later?"

This seems to be enough of an argument for Dolohov, who doesn't raise his wand again and settles for glaring daggers at me. Snape avoids my eyes, intently watching his own shoes. I let my lids drop a bit and pretend to be unconscious.

"Dolohov, weren't you supposed to report to Malfoy?" Snape's voice pierces the silence some ten minutes later. We seem to be waiting for something.

"No, Snape. I am to watch her until Hartley comes to take her to the place where we want Potter. It's you who needn't be here."

"I am just making sure you don't spoil her while she is still needed."

"Yeah, sure. Maybe you just want to have a round with her?"

"If I wanted to have her, that would be a matter between Malfoy, as he brought her, and I. You keep your nose in your own business, Dolohov."

"Oh, but I am. I want her to be my business."

"My, aren't we possessive today. I'd be devastated to be the one to tell you that the chances of your getting her are sparse."

"You watch your back, Snape," Dolohov hisses after a while. "There are some who are fed up with your arrogance. You might be Malfoy's lapdog, but he won't protect you forever."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin, Dolohov. Forewarn your potential victim… such cunning."

"You bastard!"

Dolohov stands up and raises his wand. Snape doesn't even bother with his own; instead, he advances on Dolohov and in a one long stride reaches him, catching his hand mid-movement. With a flick of his wrist, he snaps the wand in half. Dolohov gasps in shock, but is left defenceless.

"How dare you!" he croaks, his back turned so I can't see his face. "How dare you, this wand belonged to my grandfather!"

"Ah, yes. Was that the one you killed for his estate, Dolohov?"

Dolohov turns red and is nearly humming in anger, but speaks no more. Snape seems very pleased with himself and smirks so gleefully that even I have a temptation to wipe that self-assured expression off his face. The tension is palpable.

I am nearly relieved when some time later Hartley enters the room.

* * *

"I would like to hear your impression of Mr Hartley. Was he aggressive? Who did he appear to respect, and not respect, among the Death Eaters you saw? What seemed to be his motivation?"

"I am not sure, sir. I just saw him for a few-"

"I know, Miss Granger. I am merely asking for your subjective opinion."

"Well… He seemed to be quite passive-aggressive. He was very, very defensive, as if he were waiting to be attacked at any minute. He was very impolite towards Malfoy and tried to get Professor Snape to take his side whenever possible. I would say he felt alienated and that would be the reason for his strange behaviour. And it was like… like he wanted to belong, but didn't want to let others know it mattered to him at all."

Dumbledore gives no indication whether my words are what he expected or wanted to hear.

"And he barely looked at me at all…"

* * *

_  
The door opens loudly and a man steps in. I can't recognise his face, as the main source of light is now the one behind him, turning his figure into a mere silhouette. So it is only when he speaks that I recognise him. Hartley truly has a distinguishing voice, a bit raspy and low, but rising to a high-pitch when distressed._

"Dolohov," he spits distastefully, and then continues slightly less disgustedly, "Snape. I have a Portkey to the place."

He doesn't name it, as if it mattered whether I heard it or not.

"Wonderful. I am afraid we are going to have to take Dolohov with you by Portkey, seeing as his wand is-" Snape begins a sentence, just to be interrupted by Dolohov's furious voice.

"How dare you-" Dolohov begins just to stop abruptly. I suppose he is not about to claim he had his wand broken in his own hand by a man he attempted to hex.

"And why, pray, are we all going to the place? I'd think Snape and I would be more than enough escort for a wandless and unconscious Mudblood," Hartley argues.

"This is the Mudblood who fought in the Ministry, Hartley, don't you forget. And last year she disarmed Bellatrix in a duel," Snape spits. I suppose I have never heard him speak so highly of me. If only I knew all it took was to be supposedly unconscious, I'd try fainting in class.

"Sheer luck on both accounts," Hartley sneers.

"So let's prevent a chance of her being lucky today, shall we?" Snape answers contemptuously.

"Whatever you say, Snape," Hartley answers. "As long as we don't waste any more time."

* * *

Dumbledore takes a sip of mint tea he had summoned while I was speaking. The liquid is steaming, and the smell fills the room. I have to stifle the impulse to stretch my hands to take the mug the moment it is put down on the table. I don't really want to drink; I just wish I could warm my hands against it. It is unusually cold in the office, or at least it feels that way. Maybe it has to do with the spells and abuse inflicted upon me.

It is no longer dark outside, I notice.

"Miss Granger… what did you think about the fact that they didn't name the place they were taking you to?"

"Well…" I am confused. I am not sure at all what he suggests or maybe asks about. "I was a bit surprised that it mattered to them whether I knew about it… after all, I was supposed to die anyway."

Dumbledore seems to stop himself from saying something, but I can't be sure if that's the case. For all his being a Gryffindor, the man has quite a lot of Slytherin tendencies.

But since when exactly did I start to think in these strict House terms? Aren't they as prejudiced and limiting for the mind as the pure-blood nonsense?

"Do continue, Miss Granger," the Headmaster says.

And that is what I do.

* * *

_  
Dolohov grips my left hand painfully and shakes me awake, under close scrutiny of Hartley. The wizards all grab the Portkey and I feel the awful pulling around my navel. I know I am going to absolutely hate Portkeys from this night forth, if only I get the opportunity to live._

When we arrive, I fall to the ground and vomit violently, emptying my stomach on the ground and one of the Death Eaters' boots.

The wizard in question swears violently and his shoe connects with the side of my face, sending my head spinning. I taste copper in my mouth and from somewhere distant I realise it must be my blood. The warm liquid drips down my chin and cools instantly.

"What do you think you're you doing, Crabbe?" I hear Malfoy's voice, laced with anger. "Didn't I tell you we needed her alive?"

"I didn't kill her, I just-"

"You idiot!" Malfoy nearly shouts, "you could break her skull or spine!"

"But she… filth… my boots…" Crabbe is babbling uncontrollably, and I swear I can smell his fear in the air.

"Crucio,_" Malfoy whispers, and I hear the other wizard's body fall to the ground with a heavy thud, and his shriek of pain pierces the air._

"I really think it is high time you learnt to obey simple orders, you fool," he says quietly, before taking a step in my direction. I feel the tip of his wand touch my face and I freeze reflexively. He mutters something, but instead of more pain I feel a warmth spread across my face, and the bleeding stops. He withdraws quickly, as if I could contaminate him with my Muggle-born blood.

It takes a minute for the pain to dull somewhat, and only then do I try to pull myself to a sitting position. It seems we are in some kind of a cemetery, Muggle by the look of it. There are six wizards here - Malfoy and Snape stand directly behind me, whereas Crabbe and Dolohov take places on my left, and Hartley and Jeremy Something or his brother on my right. I don't risk looking at them for too long, preferring to pretend to be at least partially disorientated, which isn't difficult, taking my throbbing headache and twisting stomach into account.

"How long are we going to stand here?" Snape asks, lacing his own voice with as much distaste as the few words can hold. "And what exactly is the plan?"

"I will humour you, Snape, if only because I am in a good mood tonight, and why then should I deprive you of the pleasure of hearing me speak," Malfoy drawls in his best American accent. I want to tell him that that voice of his sounds awfully common, and that drawling is quite overrated and passé. But I bite my tongue, and soon Malfoy is speaking again…

"You all know that it is impossible to send a Portkey to Hogwarts, whether by Floo, owl post or any other means…"

Well, it is stated in "Hogwarts: A History_" quite clearly._

"So we can't just send the Potter brat a Portkey. Hell, if we could, there'd be no need to bother with that scum," he says, indicating in my direction. "So I owled him Miss Granger's lock of hair and asked him very politely to exit the castle and be in the Shrieking Shack, where our next owl should find him, if he wishes to see his friend alive.

"Now, I didn't even lie, we will let him see her alive - for a short while. Then we'll kill them both."

He smiles angelically, but the scar manages to ruin the impression.

* * *

I get a bit agitated after I disclose these pieces of information, and I notice that my left hand is now covering the spot where a large bruise must be visible on my face. I realize it is shaking and lower it slowly. I hold both trembling hands in front of me, willing them to grow still.

The Headmaster doesn't comment, but makes a small movement with his hand. A steaming mug of strong green tea with lemon and sugar - the last bit I determine after I take my first sip - appears before me. I can't count how many teacups I've drunk already, but the amount is considerable.

"Thank you, sir," I say quietly.

"You are quite welcome."

I want to ask him how he knew what my favourite tea was, but know he'd only twinkle at me and ask me to continue with my story. So I bypass that part and begin the tale once again…

* * *

_  
"So we merely wait until Potter appears to save the day and catch him when he does," Malfoy finishes, smugly._

"And what do we need her here for?" Dolohov asks angrily.

"Because if Potter sees she isn't here, he will Portkey away the moment he Portkeys in," Malfoy answers as if it was blatantly obvious. "And we still need to… interrogate her."

"I can lend you a hand in that," Dolohov sneers.

"Thatcher seems to be my choice in the matter, Antonin," answers Malfoy coolly.

So we wait. And wait. And wait.

One of the wizards to my right lights a cigarette. Snape swears under his breath and moves his hand impatiently.

"I think I need to take a moment in the woods," Jeremy states, and Malfoy nearly growls.

"Does this look like a school trip to you, Jeremy? Can't you hold your butterbeer? We are here waiting for Potter!" he pauses, before sighing audibly. "Be quick about it, boy_. If anyone else needs to relieve themselves, I suggest they go now," he hisses, with a voice full of venom._

"I'll go," Snape mutters, and after a moment both men stalk into the wood. A few minutes later, Snape comes back, alone.

"Where's Jeremy?" Hartley asks quietly.

"Neither do I know, nor do I care," Snape answers. "Or do you think I should?"

Hartley lets the matter drop, as could be expected.

I wonder whoever writes their dialogues.

Ten more minutes crawl by. Malfoy and Snape keep whispering about something. Crabbe is nervously fidgeting and muttering something under his breath. Once in a while, he takes a deep breath and then lets it out loudly. I suppose he must be still suffering from that Cruciatus.

"Hartley, go and fetch Jeremy. If Potter doesn't arrive soon, we might have to get going."

_The wizard leaves silently._

* * *

"So it was Malfoy who gave orders all along, Miss Granger? And did the others obey him completely?"

This time I am quite sure the Headmaster stops my story in order to let me collect my thoughts and get a grip. I am reaching the next difficult part of it, and he knows that; I am thankful for his consideration.

"Yes, sir. He seemed to have a great deal of authority over them."

""And would you like another tea?"

I decline his offer in an act of mercy for my bladder.

"Maybe you would like a biscuit?" Dumbledore asks, pleasantly.

"No, thank you, sir."

And, reluctantly, I return to the story.

* * *

_  
No more than two minutes pass since Hartley left when I hear some noise. I look up and can't believe my eyes._

The first thing I see is Malfoy's wand, lying in the grass about three inches from my leg. I throw myself in its direction and catch it, and only then do I raise my head to look at the thing's owner - Malfoy is looking down at me, but doesn't even attempt to move in my direction, which is strange. And then I notice that instead of standing on his left, Snape is now half-hidden behind the other wizard's back. Malfoy's hands are weakly raised to the air, and his rigid posture belies his fear.

"Don't you two move," Snape commands, and I flinch, startled by his voice. He directs his words at the remaining Death Eaters. "…Or I will fire off a nice severing hex, and you can bring the Dark Lord Malfoy's head on a silver platter. Now, that may sound pleasant enough, but it would have immediate and dire consequences, considering his authority in the Inner Circle."

Dolohov is wandless, so I suppose he wouldn't dare attack even if there was any love between Malfoy and him. And Crabbe's hands are still shaking from the endured curse. The only two dangerous wizards here are Malfoy and Snape - and the Professor has Malfoy at the tip of his wand.

I look back at my hand. I, too, have a wand. I blink slowly and realise I must be a bit dazed from all that has occurred.

"Break your wand, Crabbe. I will not repeat myself. Now, you both - lay down on your stomachs. Slowly. And you, Lucius - don't you dare move. I am easily startled, and the incantation for Incendio is short. Even more so is that for Cruciatus, you may realise.

"Miss Granger - stand up, if you can. And come here."

I shakily nod and stand up, every movement of my body stretching into eternity. At last, I am on my feet, my wand hand shaking.

Malfoy keeps looking at me, and I am a bit unsure of what his gaze holds. As much as contempt, I can also see something else there… a kind of detached interest, perhaps. I see no fear at all now, which surprises me. Fear would be understandable.

The man's expression speaks of complete control. He lets a small smirk fleet on his mouth and he raises an eyebrow just the tiniest bit, as if asking me what I am waiting for.

What I am waiting for, indeed. I take a step in Professor Snape's direction and then another. Not for a second do I let myself stop looking at Malfoy, just in case he attempts anything.

I reach Professor Snape's side without collapsing, and I am prouder of that than I was of my OWL results, and that is saying something.

"Petrificus Totalus_," he speaks softly, and Malfoy falls to the ground._

"Farewell, gentlemen," he adds, and then he clutches at my hand, uncomfortably reminding me of my vampire's grip on me from just a few hours earlier.

The world melts around me and I experience the dubious pleasure of joint Apparition.

_At least it isn't another Portkey._

* * *

The Headmaster listens carefully to my opinion on Malfoy's behaviour and answers, considering his words carefully.

"Miss Granger… I suppose Mr Malfoy knows Professor Snape better than we'd like him to - for he either knew that Severus wouldn't have enough magical energy to both kill him - or any of the other wizards - and Apparate you both safely, not after having done what needed to be done with that other wizard - or he assumed that Severus wasn't capable of killing _him_."

I notice the emphasis and ask the obvious question.

"Why wouldn't Professor Snape be able to kill Malfoy, sir?"

"Because of their long time… association… and family bond."

"Professor Snape and Malfoy are related?" I ask, curiously.

"Distantly." The Headmaster dismisses the question and staples his fingers.

* * *

_  
We Apparate into the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. The impact throws us both to the ground and, surprisingly, I am the one to somehow regain the upright position, whereas the professor stays on the ground, sitting and breathing heavily._

"Are you alright, s…sir?" I ask, politely, stuttering just the tiniest bit. It is suddenly terribly cold around me, and I feel my jaw muscles trembling, making my teeth clash.

"Shut up and don't speak unless I tell you to," he mutters back in a most unpleasant voice. "Right now I am wondering whether it would have been better to simply leave you there, you stupid girl."

If it weren't for the lack of strength in his voice I'd probably be offended - but as we aren't yet at the safe haven of Hogwarts and my saviour seems to be in dire need of being saved himself, I spare my breath. I may as well stay silent and oblige him.

He is still sitting and I am beginning to worry quite seriously about his state - his breathing is ragged and as I eye him, I notice that his hands are trembling. He catches my gaze and scrambles to his feet, furiously, making a show of being capable to do so effortlessly. The effect is quite spoilt when he has to support himself against a tree only seconds after standing up.

I pretend to have seen nothing at all, for the sake of keeping him calm, or at least non-violent.

The way back to the castle seems to be a bit more than we can both manage at the moment.

* * *

"Mr Longbottom gave us Harry's map and that is how we knew about you the moment you were back on the grounds," the Headmaster says, calmly. "I sent Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Hagrid to fetch you, because I assumed help could be needed. Luckily, they managed to get you back into the castle before the Death Eaters arrived."

"So… so the Death Eaters actually showed up here?"

"Mr Avery and Mrs Lestrange, about twenty minutes after your arrival. I was keeping an eye on the map while Madam Pomfrey assisted your injuries."

I ponder the information he gave me. The result I come out with seems quite ominous.

They wouldn't be so daring if they didn't have an attack planned for the near future - possibly an attack of the full Death Eater forces. I was thinking along these lines earlier in the evening, but now… now I am sure.

"You needn't concern yourself with this, child," Dumbledore speaks softly. "We are prepared for what is to come, and we will not allow any of you to be endangered."

"But sir… I have managed to blow the cover of your spy among the Death Eaters… How will you know-"

"This is a matter I will deal with, Miss Granger. But I do not want you to keep torturing yourself about this. I have repeatedly asked Professor Snape to put an end to his mission. I believe the risks he was facing far outweighed any advantage we could gain."

I feel a terrible pounding in my temples.

How glad I am that it is almost over.

* * *

_  
We start our walk towards the castle at a pace that would put a snail to shame. I am not sure which one of us is slower - I keep a slow but steady pace, whereas Professor Snape walks about twenty steps in what can almost pass for a normal pace before he is forced to stop and take a few deep breaths, so that he can try another twenty steps. I glance at him nervously once in a while - just to be further scared by the way he looks. Ashen doesn't begin to describe his colouring, and he seems to be on the verge of fainting. This frightens me, as I am quite sure I would never be able to bring him back to the castle, Mobilicorpus or not._

"Sir, maybe we could stop and just give a signal? Someone would come for us from the castle…"

"And find us gone, as the Death Eaters will come upon us the moment we disclose our location."

I fall silent.

We walk for another quarter an hour before Professor Snape faints.

* * *

I look out through the window and see the sun rising. It is a magnificent sight, and blinds me momentarily. The Headmaster kindly does not say anything about my pausing.

* * *

_  
I am terrified. I don't think I can levitate him - I am much too exhausted and I don't even have my own wand. Who knows how that of Malfoy's would react to me._

"Sir? Wake up, sir!" I shout straight into his ear.

He does not stir.

"Oh damn," I mutter and catch his wrist to check for a pulse. It is there, but feels irregular and quick.

I think about my options - I can try to wake the man - slapping is what one does in such situations, is it not? - or I can leave him and try to get to the castle to bring someone here to take him. Somehow neither option seems appealing. I am terrified he might die while I am away - when unconscious, the man seems so vulnerable. I realise I now owe him a life debt - a thought which does not bring me great joy.

And just then, sparing me the decision, the professors arrive and take us back home. Professor Snape is carried by Hagrid, whereas I am leaning upon Professor McGonagall, whom I find is much stronger than she seems.

When we enter the castle, I try to blink away the tears that appear in my eyes, but they still escape.

_We are safe._

* * *

"Thank you, Miss Granger. We will discuss this no further today. I suggest you go to your dormitory and have a long rest."

The Headmaster stands up with a small sigh, and I am not sure whether I imagine it or actually hear his bones popping into place. He isn't smiling, but he doesn't seem as sad as he was earlier. I must admit that as glad as I am to have this over with - I still wish I could spend more time in his presence.

Too often do we underestimate Albus Dumbledore. The only wizard Voldemort ever feared is also the wizard who chose taking care of children of the wizarding world over gaining influence and ruling as the Minister. He works hard to make us understand and accept each other and ourselves, so that no other generation of wizards enters the world divided and biased, believing in the old prejudices of being Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, pure- and Mudbloods.

"Thank you, Headmaster," I blurt out. "I don't know what we all would do if it weren't for you, sir."

He smiles in response, a small familiar light appearing in his eyes. Everybody needs to be appreciated once in a while, it seems.

I exit the office and descend down the stairs and past the statue of the gargoyle. As I exit, Professor Snape steps out of the shadows and we nearly collide.

"Watch where you're going, Granger," he hisses, and I look up at him. Our gazes lock for a second and I see the exhaustion and worry in his eyes. The way he looks at me isn't contemptuous, though he does seem rather angry.

"I am sorry, sir," I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.

"As you should be," he comments.

"And I wanted to thank you for saving me, sir. It was a very courageous thing to do, sir."

"Merely pragmatic, Miss Granger," he answers quickly, as if gravely offended. "If they questioned you, they'd learn of my betrayal sooner or later. This way I saved a pair of hands that will work for the Order. Not to mention, it was an opportunity to repay a few old feuds," he adds, as an afterthought.

"This way you risked your life, sir," I state, quietly.

He answers me with a brisk nod and a scowl. "Fizzing Whizbees," he mutters darkly. I stare at him in confusion for a moment, before hearing the gargoyle move to reveal the Headmaster's stairway. He sweeps past me without another glance, robes billowing in his wake.

...

A/N: Sorry for the disclaimer, couldn't stop myself.

I hope that I'll be able to post the epilogue soon.


	3. Epilogue

Disclaimer:

Novinha has just received a grant from EU to continue her research on the mysterious connection between the platypi and disclaimers. Some ignorants claim that the connection was established after the commercial success of a certain "Dogma" film. This seems to be a total and utter bullshit, as the scientist herself saw the aforementioned picture and it contained no platypi at all.

No platypi were harmed in writing this story. Harry wouldn't be mine even if he made an appearance.

Written by Novinha

Beta-read by Lara and Siren

**  
Personal Reasons**

Epilogue

"Well, Severus, I am sorry I kept you waiting."

The younger wizard enters my office in a flurry of black robes and closes the door with a loud bang, causing an offended murmur to rise from several of the portraits.

"No offence taken, Headmaster," he answers, and sits down across from me, projecting total nonchalance. I know him too well, however, and immediately recognise it as a gesture of weakness; under normal circumstances, he would remain standing, if only to make me ask him to sit. I always suspected that the 'fight or flight' instinct I so often inspired in him, as well as the advantages of looking down, were also his reasons for standing before me.

By sitting down, he tells me he's too tired to remain on his feet.

"What did Madam Pomfrey say?" I ask, and add, before he has a chance to reply, "I will know as soon as we meet, so lying is pointless, Severus."

He sighs dramatically.

"The meddlesome witch has an annoying habit of exaggerating."

"What did she say?" I press.

"She claimed that, to quote: 'Such overuse of your magic could very well kill you, Severus, what were you thinking!'"

"And you happen to disagree?"

"And I happen to disagree. I can very well judge my abilities, Headmaster. The day a few spells are enough to kill me, I will commit suicide."

"Severus, I've known you to overestimate your… abilities. The fact that Voldemort is drawing power from your body, combined with the torture you've endured is more than enough for any Healer to tell you to stop casting that many spells at once."

"Many… what is many? I only-"

"I've just heard from Miss Granger that you disarmed Mr Malfoy, confused or otherwise retarded Mr Gibson, and stopped Mr Hartley from exiting the forest too early. Add the joint Apparition-"

I stop, as I notice a gleam in Severus's eyes. There is something he isn't telling me - I know him far too well not to see, and he isn't as wary as he has to be around the enemy. The exhaustion factor might be at work as well. Either way, I know he is hiding something.

"Severus… Please, don't tell me you killed Mr Gibson!"

"No, but I doubt very much that they will find him."

"Transfigured?" I ask.

"Just one more mosquito for the forest."

"Unless it's already been eaten by a bat," I state with a small scowl. "Severus, you are of tremendous help to the cause, but I really do not want you repeatedly risking your life just to prove you hold it in such high a regard."

"Headmaster, the day I feel the need to prove such utter nonsense to anyone-"

"Will be your last, yes, yes, I've heard that often enough. Severus, you _are_ overdoing it. If you continue to behave in such a manner, I promise you I will strap you to a bed in the Infirmary and have some giggling Hufflepuffs help Madam Pomfrey tend to you."

"I am capable of taking care of myself, sir. It's been a long while since I needed someone to wipe my nose for me," he spits, with that scowl of his.

"Severus, I promise you that I will have someone bathe you if I see fit."

"My health is perfect, Headmaster."

"Yes, of course. Then why are you so green?"

He does indeed look terrible. There is a good reason why I never gave him the DADA position; whenever he casts too many spells at once, his body suffers terribly. Still, he would never admit any weakness, even, or perhaps most of all, to himself.

"If I may have a cup of tea, Headmaster?"

"Of course."

The tea appears - strong, black Earl Grey with two spoons of sugar. He takes a long sip of near-boiling liquid and puts the cup down.

"I would like to say that I'm glad I have you safely here," I declare calmly, preparing for a storm.

"It… it was simply inexcusable! What was that stupid girl thinking!"

"I have no idea, Severus. I suppose that she might have some problems with seeing herself as an outsider. Her need to belong got the better of her."

My Potions master chokes on his tea, and I smile briefly at the desired effect. He recognised my words as those I had once said about him, many years ago.

"Now, I have a few questions I'd like to ask you today, Severus. For one thing, do you think that this could compromise Mr Malfoy's position? With you gone, we need him more than ever."

"I am aware, Headmaster, that you do not trust him to work for us without supervision. But I will repeat - Lucius is a pragmatist. He realised that the future in which Voldemort wins is not the best prospect for the Malfoy family. He is fed up with kissing the boot that kicks him. He will remain loyal, because this is what he knows to be most profitable. As to this event compromising his position - I am sure that even right now he is wondering how to twist what happened into a story of his cunning plan to uncover the spy among the Death Eaters."

"This I can believe… My other concern is the existence of Mr Thatcher. So far we've only known about him from Mr Malfoy, so we couldn't attempt to kill him without endangering our spy. Now that Miss Granger saw him, we have to make our move, and fast. I want that man dead, Severus. He is very dangerous."

"I agree, Headmaster. He seems to be more skilful a Legilimens than the Dark Lord himself."

"And now, my last question," I say, slowly. "Why did you save Miss Granger?"

Obviously, he has not been prepared for me to ask this question. His face falls and he is suddenly very much interested in the state of his fingernails.

"Isn't that obvious, Headmaster?" he replies casually. "She is aware of many more Order matters than it would be advisable to let the enemy know."

"That is what you have memory spells for, Severus."

"Obliviate can be easily broken by a skilled Legilimens."

"I am not talking Obliviate here, Severus."

"They would instantly guess there was magic at work."

"They would think that it was a result of the torture inflicted by Dolohov."

"Are you telling me I was supposed to kill her, Albus? Taking all her memory away would be the equivalent of that," he nearly shouts, leaning towards me agitatedly.

"I am just saying that you chose to save her, when I am sure you wouldn't have done the same if it was, say, Miss Abbott in her place."

"I do not know what you are implying, Albus," he hisses, visibly tensing.

"I am sure you do, Severus."

"She is a brilliant student and will certainly be a great asset to our cause. I didn't want to waste that. Besides, I decided to take your advice and retire from the spying service."

"Bullshit." I resist the urge to smirk as Severus's eyes widen slightly at the uncharacteristic curse.

"I knew otherwise you'd never begin to trust Malfoy-"

"I will repeat myself, Severus. That is utter bullshit. I've known you since you were eleven, and I know when you are lying. I needn't use Legilimency to tell."

"Headmaster, if you are suggesting that I behaved in an inappropriate way-"

"Severus, you are not listening."

"If… if there was any other reason why I saved the girl… if I had a personal reason…"

"Then I will respect it as personal."

"You aren't accusing me-" he begins, disbelief clear on his face.

"I would never suspect you of behaving inappropriately towards a student, Severus," I state firmly. A short silence follows, one that he breaks with a question.

"Then why-"

"I wanted to let you know that I know and… and that I do not judge you. What you feel… I know you are a man of honour, Severus. I trust you to do what is right. I trust _you_."

He falls silent for a moment, and then, suddenly, blurts out in an uncharacteristic show of emotions.

"I would never abuse your trust, Headmaster."

I nod, and stretch my hand to put it on his fist. It takes a moment before he meets my gaze.

"I want you to know two things, Severus."

He studies me intently, and I continue, carefully choosing my words.

"I think of you as the son I never had."

He shrugs and shakes his head, as if he wants to deny my words, to stop me, but I do not let him.

"And I want you to know that I wouldn't think any less of you… if, one day…"

He seems to tense even more, waiting for me to finish.

"She won't be a student forever," I finish, quietly.

He scowls and answers, in the tone of defeat admitted.

"But I will always be a Death Eater, Headmaster. And an old, bitter man. I believe it wouldn't be too kind of me to inflict myself upon anyone, much less someone like her."

The bitterness in his voice hurts more than anything else.

"Besides, I don't think I will live long enough to do that," he adds.

"But I believe you will," I state, decidedly. "Now, I want you to go straight to your bed - if I believed you'd stay there, I'd send you to the Infirmary, but I know you too well."

He smirks.

"Off you go. I don't want to see you out of your bed for the next twenty-four hours. I need you alive, Severus."

My Potions master doesn't give any indication that he heard or is willing to obey me. He stands up and straightens his robes. Before he exits my office, I grip his hand firmly.

"You did what was right," I say. "You made the right decision, I want you to remember that."

"We shall see, Headmaster," he answers, already at the door, his back turned at me. "We shall see."

"Albus," I say, for the umpteenth time. "It is Albus to you."

But he is already gone.

...

A/N: I a sure it's been done thousands of times, but I had to write it. I do hope my version was worth something. At least Hermione doesn't get raped and impregnated when she visits a Dark Revel. Yes, in case someone didn't notice, the tea party of the Death Eaters was a Very Dark Revel. 

I would like to name my two sources of inspiration - one was Naya Snake, my fellow Polish fanfiction writer, the only writer ever who made me believe in a Vampire!Snape. Hers was the first fanfiction I ever read. And this story is inspired by her one-shot about Lucius Malfoy having to choose between his loyalty to the Dark Lord and to his son - and making the right decision.

The other source was a discussion on WIKTT about Dark Revels. From obvious reasons.

Due to its construction - a bit inspired by Greek traditional drama - it was a pleasant experience and an exercise for me. I do hope I managed to make it at least half that pleasant for you.

I am aware of the fact that I didn't keep the tone of this story dark due to my twisted sense of humour somehow managing to slip into oddest moments. Please, bear with me.

As to Dumbledore's characterisation - I have read one too many Manipulative Bastard Dumbledore stories lately and wanted to write him the way I see him. Notice he doesn't think getting involved with a student is right - he stresses the fact that he trusts Snape not to abuse his position as a teacher.

And I had so much fun thinking up another reason for Snape not being given the DADA teacher position.

Oh - and this bit about Portkeys not being sent to Hogwarts - it just seems logical to me. Why go to all the problem with Moody if Voldy could just tie a Portkey to an owl's leg and send it to Hogwarts? Have we seen any screening of mail, save Umbridge's attempts? I'd rather believe the wards around Hogwarts stop owls carrying Portkeys. More logical.

Last, not least, I'd like to thank the readers for the wonderful feedback this story received. Each and every comment was/will be answered.


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